Our boatman had lost his oar; he swam for it, leaving us rocking on the turbulent sea. When we pulled him back aboard he turned the skiff towards the trireme, and we braced ourselves for recovering what we could.
By the time we pressed near enough, the choppiness was settling. The crew of the Isis were clinging to lines and being slowly brought on board the Pax, while marines swarmed over the mighty bronze ram, hacking off what was left of the yacht. Splintered shards of the beautiful toy skirled on the bay. We could hear screams from within a juddering fragment of the hull where a crewman was trapped; although the marines fought to save him, the timbers broke away and took him to the bottom before they managed it. Sickened, Gordianus and I left them to it and hauled ourselves up a rope ladder over the light-boned hull of the trireme to confront the magistrate. We came aboard in the stern. Rufus made no attempt to meet us, so we both walked the huge length of the ship and came up to him just at the moment when a group of marines, aided by the grim-faced bosun Bassus, dragged what was left of Aufidius Crispus in over the rail.
Another corpse.
This one thudded on deck streaming wet, with that thin, crimson poignancy fresh blood takes on when mixed with sea water. Yet another corpse, and yet again no need for it. I could tell Gordianus was as angry as I was. He wrenched off his cloak, then he and I wrapped the battered body in it; he spoke one harsh word to Aemilius Rufus before he turned away: 'Waste!'
I was less restrained.
'What was the point of that hideous manoeuvre?' I raged, making free with my contempt. 'Don't tell me Vespasian ordered it-Vespasian has better sense!'
Aemilius Rufus hesitated. He still possessed those startling looks, but the confident air which had once impressed me seemed a tawdry gift, now I had watched him in action and learned he was one more aristocrat with erratic judgement and a total lack of practical intelligence. I had seen it in Britain during the Great Rebellion, and here it was at home: yet another second-rate official with fool's gold in his pedigree, sending good men to the grave.
He made no answer. I expected none.
He had been scanning the rescued crewmen, trying to hide his agitation because he could not see the one man we all knew he was looking for. His elegant, fair-skinned face revealed the moment when he decided not to approach Gordianus-an irascible elder senator, who would give him short shrift. I had the honour instead.
'Rather unfortunate! But it solves the problem of Crispus-'
'Crispus was not a problem!' My terse answer unsettled him.
'Falco, what's happened to Pertinax?'
'Feeding the Baian oysters, if it was up to you! Oh, don't worry; he should be safe on the Sea Scorpion-'
I ought to have known better.
When we all turned to the rail and looked for my old friend Laesus and his sturdy merchant ship, we discovered that the Sea Scorpion had slipped her anchor during the melee. She was already far away from us, heading south for the open sea.